As the gaunt rider thus spoke, his long red beard was blowing this way and that in the breeze; and he turned his horse, and walked him towards that lonely tree in which, as he lay gazing on its black outline, Paul had fancied the shape of a phantom policeman.
“I don't care a cuss,” said Davies. “I'm half sorry I came a leg to meet yer.”
“Growlin', eh?” said the horseman.
“I wish you was as cold as me, and you'd growl a bit, maybe, yourself,” said Paul. “I'm jolly cold.”
“Cold, are ye?”
“Cold as a lock-up.”
“Why didn't ye fetch a line o' the old author with you?” asked the rider—meaning brandy.
“I had a pipe or two.”
“Who'd a-guessed we was to have a night like this in summer-time?”
“I do believe it freezes all the year round in this queer place.”